


Tar Baby

by DragonsPhoenix



Series: Lotus in Muddy Water [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsPhoenix/pseuds/DragonsPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith starts seeing a vampire who isn't there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wesley, sitting in the living room, waited while the girls got ready for the picnic, a process that seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. After all he'd managed to prepare himself in less than half an hour. Donning his baby blue shirt, the one that went so well with his cream colored summer suit, had reminded him of his mother and last Christmas when she'd given it to him. Dressing casually had taken less time than putting on his usual Watcher's suit and he'd started wondering if he could forgo the formality of his usual outfits when Aidan stepped into the room. As the man's appearance reminded him of Grace's comment at breakfast, when she'd called him Aidan's evil twin, Wesley pinched his lips together. When he'd asked her to explain, she'd muttered something about their color schemes, how Aidan's silver hair and dark clothes contrasted with Wesley's dark hair and pale suit. He didn't see how that made him evil. If anything they were mirror images of each other or more along the lines of those tricks with photographic film that switched colors to their opposites. 

“Do you have a minute? I've got a question,” Aidan said. 

Glancing toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms where the girls were getting ready, Wesley said, “Apparently I have a good number of minutes. We were supposed to have left ten minutes ago, but Claire, Grace, and Faith haven't even made it downstairs yet. I'm not sure what's taking them so long. I'd thought they were appropriately dressed this morning.” 

“Good,” Aidan said. “My study.” Leading the way, Aidan added, “I understand you're thesis was on daemoniogenesis?” 

Wesley, who'd been wondering why people seemed to ignore half of everything he said, glanced up, his eyes wide with surprise. “Yes,” he agreed, a hint of a smile replacing the frown he hadn't been able to keep at bay as he'd sat there waiting. “My focus was on the creation of werewolves. While some of the more modern researchers, such as Collins, believe the transformation is caused by purely physical, that is chemical, changes in the blood, I agree with DeRosa that there is a more mystical component, the prima daemoni, a pure demonic energy, that is the true cause of the changes. If we could only learn more of it's nature, werewolves might not need to change at all. The curse could be completely negated.” 

“I'm more interested in the Hellborn.” 

Wesley, who'd been leaning forward, engaged in the discussion, sat back. “But that's nothing more than a myth.” 

“I've been told DeRosa's On Demons devotes three chapters to the Hellborn with at least two dozen pages theorizing how daemonion can be made human again.” 

“But, but Evans discounted those theories over fifty years ago,” Wesley said. 

Aidan waved that aside. “Evans was an idiot. What do you recall of DeRosa's theories?” 

Before Wesley could reply, there was a short knock on the door and then Brigit stepped in. “Sorry for the interruption, but if you want to come to the picnic, we need to go now before Grace decides to change again.” 

“He's busy,” Aidan said, his voice sounding so firm that Wesley was surprised when Brigit said his name and missed her question. 

“What?” Wesley asked. 

“I said are you sure you'd rather stay here?” Brigit replied. 

Wesley glanced around the book filled room. “Actually, yes,” he said, trying to sound apologetic. “I so rarely get an opportunity to discuss my thesis, you see.” 

“The Hellborn?” Brigit asked. 

“Well, they weren't my specific focus, but I do have a good understanding of them. How did you know?” 

While Brigit was shutting, not replying to Wesley's question, Aidan said, “Back to those theories, I don't suppose you took any notes?” 

* * * 

Brigit's Subaru inched along, stuck in the long line of traffic. “Geez,” Faith complained. “I think we could have walked faster.” 

Brigit shrugged. “We could park it here, right in the middle of the road, and hope the car doesn't get towed. Of course that means you'd have to carry the cooler all the way to the beach.” 

“We could always catch another ride back,” Grace chimed. 

“Sure,” Brigit agreed. “Aunt Milly has that boat of a car. I'm sure she'd be happy to give you a lift in return for a bit of light work around the house. She's been saying her curtains need washing, and while you're there I'm sure her tub needs to be scrubbed out. You know she hasn't been able to clean properly since she started needing that walker.” 

“That's not funny. Mom had me there all day last week,” Grace complained as Claire laughed. 

“Hey,” Faith said as Brigit pulled into the left lane, moving around the line of cars exiting for the beach. “Shouldn't we be heading that way?” 

“No,” Grace said. “That's Higsbee beach. We're down the road, but we've got dune buggies if you want to check out Higsbee later.” 

“Higsbee is the main town beach, over by the boardwalk,” Brigit added. “The kids go back and forth all day.” 

“Hey! I'm not a kid,” Grace called out, complaining from the back seat. 

Five minutes later, Brigit made a right, driving onto a two lane road where two-storied houses with weathered paint jobs were scattered to each side. Nodding at a group of parked cars, about two or three dozen, Brigit said, “That's where I'll be parking after I've dropped you off.” 

Less than a minute later the road ended in a large outcropping of rocks. A stretch of sand led to the beach where five dune buggies sat. 

To the right, in the shade made by a canopy of trees that had been planted in a semi-circle with an open meadow in the middle were eight picnic tables, grouped in sets of two. Three grills were set up at the far end with a dozen men gathered around. The rest of the adults mostly stayed in the shade, where it was slightly cooler, while kids ran around in the meadow, aiming water guns at each other. Grace and Claire headed straight for the group of teens, hanging out as close to the beach as they could while still protected by the shade trees. 

Two young men, detaching themselves from one of the closer picnic tables, raced each other over, making a game of who was the fastest. As they ran in, slowing down at they approached the car, Faith had to look up. “Damn you're tall.” 

As they laughed, Brigit introduced them as her cousins. Faith could see the resemblance; there was something in their faces that looked alike and they each shared Brigit's dark hair although Tom's was short, cut in a windswept style that probably took an hour to achieve, while Dave's hair hung down to his shoulders in soft waves. As the guys picked up the cooler, the one Faith had carried by herself, grunting at the weight, each taking one end, Brigit said, “They think heavy lifting impresses the girls.” 

“No,” Dave, the taller of the two said, “we think Grandma Lucy will kick our butts if we don't drag your heavy ass cooler over to the tables.” 

“What the hell?” Tom asked. “You fill this up with bricks?” 

“Ha, ha. If you didn't eat so much, I wouldn't have to make so much,” Brigit replied. 

“Of course we're going to finish it off. Better than lugging it back.” 

Rolling her eyes, Brigit asked Faith, “Are you coming back with me to park the car?” 

Faith smiled at Brigit's cousins. “I think I can make do with the boys.” 

Blushing, Tom glanced back toward the table they'd just come from, but Dave smiled at Faith. As the two men started carrying the cooler toward the tables, Faith stood there, her eyes glued on the guys, her head tilted to one side, smiling as she said, “Oh Momma.” 

Brigit, coming round Faith's side, bumped their hips together. “Their brains are up a little higher up than that.” 

“Are you sure?” Faith asked, “Because most guys I've met have their brains in their dicks.” 

Skipping backward to the car, Brigit added, “Try not to have too much fun.” 

“No such thing,” Faith shouted back. 

As the car pulled off, scattering gravel behind, a voice called out, echoing her name around her, “Faith. Faith. Faith.” It was a voice that belonged in darkness. 

Shifting into a fighting stance, Faith scanned the tree line, looking for him in the shade. He was standing there, right behind the teens, not two feet from Grace and Claire. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Faith muttered to herself, racing toward the trees, certain she wouldn't make it in time. Running into the center of the kids, Faith grabbed Grace, throwing her into the sunshine. As Claire took a step back, out of Faith's reach, Faith shouted, “Sunlight. Now.” 

“Huh?” some guy asked. 

“Into the sun now,” Faith shouted, shoving kids out of her way. “Where'd he go?” 

Claire took three steps into the meadow, until she was covered in sunlight. “Who?” 

Her head darting around, Faith said, “There was a guy here, light brown hair, a scar across his cheek.” 

“No way,” a tall beanpole of a guy said. 

“He's right,” Claire said, nodding at all the dark heads. “Someone we didn't know would stand out.” 

“I just saw him,” Faith said, still scanning the area. 

“Are you OK?” Grace asked. “You're as pale as a ghost.” 

“Oh, like you've seen a ghost,” a girl scoffed. 

“I could have,” Grace said. “My great-aunt Avis...” 

“Our great-aunt Avis,” the girl interrupted. 

“Faith, who did you see?” Claire asked. 

“You're not the sharpest stick, are you Slayer?” 

Faith whirled around. Ten feet out, standing in direct sunlight, Kakistos smirked at her, looking as deadly as the night he'd killed her Watcher. “I'm coming for you Slayer.” 

She blinked and he was gone. 

“Are you all right?” Claire asked. 

“I gotta go,” Faith said, almost shouting the words as she raced toward the beach.


	2. Chapter 2

Brigit, having parked the car, was walking to the picnic when she saw Dave, her cousin, jogging toward her. “What's up?” 

Coming to a stop before her, he said, “Your friend seems rather, um, uninhibited.” 

“That she is,” Brigit agreed. 

With a shrug he asked, “Think she'd go for me?” 

Brigit thought back to the time Faith had told Wesley she'd fucked a guy she barely knew. “I think you've got a shot.” 

“She split,” he said. 

“What?” Brigit asked, not immediately following the jump in his logic. “Faith? She left?” 

“Yeah, there was some kind of a commotion over by the teens, your sister and her friend in the middle of it, and then Faith ran off. Nobody's really sure what went down.” 

“Ah,” Brigit added as she realized that someone had sent Dave to her, that someone wanted her to figure out what had happened. “Thanks.” 

“No sweat,” he said as he started to jog off, heading toward the parking area. “Grandpa Joe forgot his meds again.” 

As she walked on to the picnic, Brigit wondered what could have set Faith off. Sure, the girl was wild and unpredictable, but this sounded different. Certainly they wouldn't have sent Dave along, with the excuse that he was fetching grandpa's medication, if somebody hadn't thought it was important. 

By the time she got to the meadow, most of the teens, including Grace, were lined around the table helping themselves to food. Good, given how late it was, it made perfect sense that she'd want to eat right away. Stepping toward Grace, cutting into the line, she called out “Where's Faith?” as if Dave hadn't already filled her in. 

Grace's hands got very expressive as she started talking. “Oh stop,” she said, holding both hands out in a stop position. “She totally flipped out,” she added, waving her hands in little flips. “She ran up to us, freaking out about some guy, light brown hair with a scar on his cheek, right Claire?” 

“Yeah,” Claire agreed, her eyes wide. Brigit suppressed a snicker. The girls were hamming it up a bit too much. “And she shoved Grace.” 

“Oh, you poor baby,” Brigit said, grabbing Grace into a hug. 

“She wanted us in the sunlight,” Grace whispered next to Brigit's ear before calling out, sounding completely exasperated, “I'm fine! Claire's just making a big deal as usual.” Brigit could almost hear Grace's eyes rolling in the tone. 

As Brigit stepped back, releasing Grace from the hug, someone called out, “Hey, no cutting the line.” 

“Fine, fine,” Brigit said, walking to the back of the line where she was joined by Anne, her sister-in-law. 

“Care to join us for lunch?” Anne asked, nodding toward the table where her parents were sitting. 

“Love to,” Brigit said with a grin, knowing it would give her a chance to pass the sunlight info along to Anne, who would then pass the info up the chain herself. 

 

* * *

 

Wesley was lost in thought, not even seeing the room, pondering over Aidan's question until his mind lit on an obscure text, one from a very early expedition in Australia, the only copy of said text existing in an obscure Council run library, access limited to a very few souls. “I do believe I have something. There's a sect called Primals, mostly in the Australian outback as far as I know, who possess themselves with an animal spirit, usually something predatory. Because humans retain their souls when merging with animals, the results are particularly gruesome. They tend to die in extreme agony if something isn't' done, ah but that's the point. An animal spirit can be removed from it's human host.” 

“How?” 

The doorbell rang. Wesley waited, never doubting that Aidan would answer it. When the bell rang again, and Aidan hadn't moved, Wesley asked, “Aren't you going to get that?” 

“They'll come back later if they really need me,” Aidan replied, waving aside the distraction. 

“It could be important.” Door and phones had always been answered in the Wyndam-Pryce household. 

With a sigh Aidan got up, leaving Wesley and the study behind. Wesley listened from his seat. “Cam, I thought you couldn't make it until next week.,” After a pause, Aidan added, “Our good fortune then. Come in. I'm afraid you've caught me in the middle of something.” 

“You always are,” a second voice interrupted, the voice an alto that could either belong to a man or a woman. 

“You don't mind?” Aidan asked, sounding as if the answer were important to him. Wesley looked over, even though he couldn't see the front door from where he sat, startled by Aidan's words since, in his experience, the man didn't care about anyone else's opinion. 

“I can keep myself busy,” the voice replied in a dry sounding tone. 

As Aidan returned to the study, his usually efficient movements seeming distracted, Wesley, wondering whom could have such an effect on the man, asked, “Who was at the door?” 

“Cam?” Aidan asked. “You can meet her later. Now, about these Primals, how are the animal spirits removed?” 

Wesley put his own questions aside to answer Aidan's. “As far as I can recall, it's merely a repeat of the original ritual, in which a sand painting is used to focus the power while a predatory act casts the animal spirit into some kind of a scapegoat, which is then killed.” 

“So there are two sacrifices then: the victim of the predatory act and the scapegoat? And this would work for daemonion as well?” Aidan asked. 

Wesley blinked. “While my sources were clear that it does work on Primals, most daemonion are created by dramatically different kinds of rituals.” 

“Still it's worth looking into,” Aidan said. 

“Only if one were willing to kill two innocents.” 

Aidan's head snapped up. “I thought the victim and the scapegoat were animals.” 

“Um, no, humans I'm afraid.” 

“Is there any indication it could work with animals?” Aidan asked. 

“Nothing that I recall,” Wesley replied, finally starting to wonder why Aidan wanted this information. 

“Let's go over the ritual in as much detail as you can recall. Can you sketch out the sand painting for me?” 

 

* * *

 

Running full out, at a speed no mere human could hope to match, almost creating a breeze as she flashed past the scattered families and friends partying on the beach, Faith didn't slow down until she approached the town and then only because the crowds had picked up, and she was afraid she'd crash into someone. Scanning the area, searching for Kakistos, part of her was terrified she would find him while part of her wondered if she was going out of her mind, seeing something that couldn't be there. “Shit, I must be going crazy,” she said to herself, dropping down to a walk. If it had been Kakistos, she must be far enough away, although it couldn't have been, not out in direct sunlight. 

Faith had walked about half a mile further before she felt safe, or at least safe enough that she'd stopped expecting an attack anytime someone moved nearby. As the scent of burgers wafted over, Faith felt her stomach rumble. Lunch, she'd missed lunch. Looking over, Faith saw a grill surrounded by a crowd of guys, most of them a few years older than her and a couple wearing logos with Greek letters, making them frat boys. This she could handle. Putting on a confident swagger, she worked her way through the crowd, snaking her arm around the guy at the grill. “Sure is a lot of meat you've got there.” 

The guy glanced away, like some kind of a pansy virgin or something, while a couple of his friends hooted out, pointing and laughing. Faith didn't get it until a hand with bright red nails slapped down on her shoulder. Faith jammed her elbow upwards, feeling a crunch behind her. When she turned, arms shifting into a defensive position, but it was some chick about her own age, blood running from her nose as mascara muddied her eyes. “What the fuck were you thinking?” 

Raising her hands, Faith said, “Look, I'm sorry. You caught me off guard.” 

“Off guard?” As the chick snarled, her blonde hair paled, becoming pure white, while her lacy top and jeans darkened into the watery dress of the woman who'd given herself to Be-thatet, the demon Faith had killed not a week earlier. 

“Fuck,” Faith shouted, slamming her fist into the demon's face. Arms grabbed Faith from behind. Her gaze darting, Faith saw bloody pieces of frat boys scattered across the sand. Grill-boy stepped between her and the demon, waving a spatula as if it were a weapon. “What the hell, you're protecting it?” Slamming an elbow back, hitting with fists and feet, she knocked the demons off, stepping back from the fray to assess the situation. 

There were no body parts in the sand. There were four of five guys down for the count, but based on where they were, they were the demons she'd taken out. That chick, and she really was just some chick, not a demon, was surrounded by four friends, as young as she was. One backed away when Faith looked over. Taking a few steps back, Faith called out “Sorry” before turning and running off, leaving the mess behind, just like always. 

She was about three-quarters of the way to Aidan's before she realized where she was heading. It didn't seem like a bad choice. If she was wigging, she could hole up there, go to ground until the visions went away, but if Kakistos had found her at least there'd be plenty of weapons at hand. Veering off at the break in the reeds, she slowed to a stop in the backyard, listening until she'd heard and located both Aidan and Wes. They were in Aidan's study, which meant she could make it to the training room without running into anybody. Hopefully a good workout would take care of all that shit she'd been seeing. 

Absentmindedly swinging open the door to the training room, Faith froze and shifted into a fighting stance. The lights were on, but that wasn't what had stopped her. She'd heard a noise, a footfall on one of the training mats. “Not here too,” she whispered. The problem was, she couldn't ignore it here, not with Aidan and Wes right upstairs, defenseless if this really was Kakistos. 

“Make up your mind. Either come in, or shut the door.” It wasn't his voice. Taking one cautious step into the room, Faith's arms dropped to her side as her jaw hit the floor, and she almost blushed to think she'd been afraid. It was an old woman, taller than Faith by about a foot, a lean beanpole look to her body, with short gray hair and dark skin. She was dressed like one of those martial arts guys, in black pants and a white top with a black belt wrapped around her waist. The pants flared out as she circled around the room and Faith, not certain why, circled the room as well, keeping as much distance between them as she could. 

“Attack.” That one word, barked out, sounded like an order. 

“Uh, no?” Faith replied. 

The woman stopped and pointed toward the door. “Then I have no use for you. Out.” 

“And who are you exactly?” Faith asked, reluctant to leave when she didn't know what was going on. 

Striding toward the far end of the room, the woman called back, “In this room, I am called Sensei. Either leave or attack. Here, I'll make it easy on you.” Pulling aside the sliding wooden door to reveal an array of weapons, she pulled out two staffs, tossing one to Faith before making her way to the doorway, where she waited with staff at the ready. “If you can get past me, you're free to leave.” 

“What're you, Friar Tuck?” 

“Do I look like a fat, lazy, old man?” 

“This is crazy. Look, I'm not gonna attack you,” Faith said. “You're old enough to be my grandma.” 

The woman didn't move. “Then I should be easy to defeat.” 

Faith started pacing the room, swinging the staff, flipping it around herself and striking out at the air in an impressive array of fighting moves, ending a few feet away from the old woman, the staff coming to an abrupt halt an inch from the woman's forehead. “How about you let me go and nobody'll get hurt?” 

This time the woman didn't speak. 

“Move it, granny,” Faith shouted, taking a swing at the woman but a light blow that didn't even pretend to land. Faith struck out again, aiming for the woman but moving slowly. The woman raised her staff to block the blow, and then returned to a waiting position, staff at the ready, open to any attack. Faith made a couple of halfhearted blows, easily blocked. “Come on,” she shouted. As Faith swung her staff at the woman's leg, faster than her earlier strikes but still slower than anything she'd to against a real opponent, the woman thrust her staff under Faith's, brining it upward in a circular motion that swung it over Faith's staff, blocking it to the ground. 

About forty-five minutes later, after countless matches had gone the way of the first few, the woman knocked Faith's staff out of her hands. “Are you ready to attack me yet?” 

“I've been attacking you.” 

“No, you've been playing at it.” Putting her staff down, carefully placing it along the edge of the wall, the woman moved to the center of the room. “Full attack, no weapons, you run at me. Are you ready?” 

Faith looked meaningfully at the empty doorway. “What's to stop me from leaving?” 

“You lose your trainer.” 

Faith thought on that for a moment. “You?” 

“You haven't defeated me yet.” 

“I don't want to hurt you,” Faith said. 

Catching Faith's eyes in her calm gaze, the woman quietly and simply told Faith to attack. 

Faith ran at her, well below Slayer speed, veering out of the way when the woman didn't move. 

“No! Attack me as if I were a demon.” 

Faith took a step back. “What do you know about demons?” 

Rolling her eyes, the old woman, the Sensei, said, “If I knew nothing of Slayers and demons, how could I train you? Attack again, full speed this time.” 

When Faith ran at her again, still holding back, the Sensei stepped aside, slapping Faith's backside as she ran past. “Not good enough.” 

“Look, I really don't want to hurt you.” 

“Don't worry about harming me. That's my problem. Now attack, or would you rather get this Watcher killed like you did your last one?” 

As the scent of the swamp, that fetid murky scent she'd hoped to never smell again, hit her, Faith heard Petra's last shrill scream and saw an arm bobbing in the water, the Watcher's pale silk blouse trailing in it's wake. She saw Wesley struggling against the demon, struggling to breathe as it dragged him down deeper into the sea. She heard Kakistos; “I'm coming for you Slayer.” As her gaze darted around the room, desperate to find the vampire before he hurt her again, her anger boiled up inside. Throwing herself at the frail looking woman, needing to smash something, anything, even if it was someone innocent, she found herself flying through the air and crashing into a padded wall. 

“Better, but you control your anger. Don't let it control you.” 

“How'd you do that?” Faith asked, rising from the floor. 

“That's what I'm here to teach you.”


	3. Chapter 3

While they'd dawdled over lunch, about a third of Brigit's aunts had come over to chat with Diana, the mother of the man that Brigit had married when she was eighteen. He'd died nearly three years later, shot waiting for a train in New York. A year after his death, as her family had started pushing Brigit to date again, she'd started appreciating her position as Aidan's assistant, which allowed her to maintain a distance from well meaning aunts whose sense of privacy was practically non-existent when it came to family matters. 

After clearing away the place settings and tossing out the paper plates, while Anne and her parents headed off to another party – a more formal celebration being held by Diana's cousin – Brigit wandered off to find other company. The problem with family gatherings was that her options didn't stray much outside of family, which shouldn't have been a problem, she loved them all as much as she ever had, but she no longer wanted what they wanted. Annie, her brother's wife, called her over and sat her down next to her on a chair she claimed she'd been saving just for Brigit. Handing her son Bobby over to Brigit, Annie gave her an excuse to ignore the conversation but still be part of the group of young mothers. 

“I swear my Olivia notices everything. She had dinner over at a friend's house, that Theresa she knows from school and came back raving about something called puttanesca, which is some Italian dish, pasta with tomatoes, capers, anchovies. I bet I could cook a batch up just based on her description.” 

“That actually sounds pretty good. I wouldn't mind try to making it myself. What did you call it?” 

“Put-ta-nes-ca.” 

“Oh, I've had that. My dad's old girlfriend, Fran, she used to make it for us.” 

Thinking of puttanesca reminded Brigit of Manos, who'd first made the dish for her, exclaiming happily that the name, puttanesca, meant “little whore” in Italian. Over the two and a half years that Brigit had worked for Aidan, he'd had a number of guests, experts in occult or martial arts, and Manos, the first to visit after she'd moved in, was one of her favorites. He and Aidan had holed themselves up in the study while Manos' lover, Scott, a quiet man who valued his solitude, had wandered the beach, apparently unaffected by the winter chill. Brigit hadn't been quite sure what to make of them, of the two male lovers that is. Her father came from a huge family, a dozen siblings in all, a line aggressive in the pursuit of children and grandchildren. The few gay scions tended to leave Deepwater, setting up home in some larger city, happy to come back for family visits, holidays such as the 4th or Christmas, but even happier to live out of town. 

Toward the end of their visit, Brigit had gone shopping with the two men, directing them to local specialty shops in search of ingredients. Manos had insisted on quality, passing over tomatoes that Brigit would have thought were perfectly acceptable in his pursuit of perfection. It had taken them an entire day to find everything he'd been looking for, and then he'd spent the next two days preparing the meal. Brigit hadn't tasted anything like it before or since, although she had been encouraged to try recipes outside of the range of those she'd grown up with. Some of the better meals she'd made since then had been based on recipes Manos had passed on to her, either during one of his infrequent visits or in one of his more regular letters. It might not be a bad idea to make puttanesca again. She was sure Faith, who had a healthy appetite to begin with but who really scarfed up anything spicy, would like it. 

As Bobby started fussing, apparently irritated by her lack of attention while her thoughts had wandered. Brigit started bouncing him on her knee, seemingly focused on him but really wondering what had sent Faith racing off. Running after her would only cause talk though, and besides she had no idea where Faith had gone. 

“Brigit, there you are.” 

“Dad?” she asked. 

Nodding in the direction of Dottie's B&B, which was a couple of miles down the beach, he said, “You need to relieve your mother.” 

“Nothing wrong I hope?” Annie asked, expelling a huff of air as she took Bobby from Brigit's lap. 

“No, no, Cam's in town, and you know how much Dottie likes her. She wants to bring over some food,” he added, nodding toward the picnic tables, “and catch up.” 

Joining her father as he strolled toward the tables, her mind already having put together a list of what food to send back with her mother to Aidan's, Brigit asked, “And?” 

The level look that he turned her way gave away nothing. “They're going to do it tonight.” 

Her footsteps faltered at that. Rushing to catch up, she asked, “So soon?” 

“You know Cam, catch her off her guard.” 

Brigit sighed. “If they can find her.” 

* * * 

Faith stood alone in the center of the room, her opponent visible only to herself. Standing with most of her weight on her right leg with her left leg out before her, Faith reached with her left hand as if grabbing a shirt collar in her fist. Shifting her weight to her left leg, she twisted her torso forward, adding leverage to the slam as her right hand threw down her imaginary opponent. 

“No.” While the Sensei didn't shout, her words told Faith she'd gotten it wrong again. “You aren't supposed to be fighting. I want you to feel the chi, to let it move you. Don't force it. Try again.” 

With a sigh, Faith shifted to the starting position, standing straight up, knees not quite locked, her arms by her side. Training with Petra had never been so tough. Her Watcher had trained her to fight, not to get all touchy feely with some sort of mystical energy field. 

Hearing a noise from the hallway, Faith turned to see Brigit's mother standing at the open door, her hands together in a prayer position as she bowed toward the room. “Dottie,” the Sensei exclaimed, wearing a huge grin, the first smile Faith had seen her give. “It's so good to see you,” she added, crossing the room and gathering the woman in a hug. 

Dottie returned the hug, giving Faith the first clue to the Sensei's name by calling her Cam. 

“You brought dinner?” Cam asked. 

“Food?” Faith asked, suddenly famished. 

“Upstairs,” Dottie replied, backing into the hallway to let Faith through. 

Faith bolted up the stairs and had downed half a plateful of chicken, burgers, beans, and potato salad by the time she heard Cam's voice call out from Aidan's study. “I know you haven't eaten since breakfast. Come on, break it up and get some food before Faith eats it all.” Looking over at the huge cooler, Faith didn't think that'd be an issue. 

“I am feeling rather fatigued,” she heard Wes say. 

When Aidan, Wes, and Cam joined her in the kitchen, Faith asked, “Where's Dottie?.” 

“She couldn't say,” Cam replied. “Here, this is for you,” she added, tossing something over to Faith. 

It was a black, plastic square, small enough to fit in her hand, on a necklace chain. “What is it?” Faith asked. 

“For training,” Cam said as she scooped beans onto a plate. “After we've eaten.” 

“But we've been training for hours,” Faith complained. 

“Hours?” Wes asked. “I thought you were with Brigit. Wait, training?” He looked back and forth between Faith and Cam. 

“I've called Cam in to train Faith,” Aidan said. 

“What?” Wesley's hands clenched into fists. “I am Faith's Watch...” He glanced over at Cam. “I am responsible for Faith. You do not go over my head and call in some random,” pausing he waved his hands about before adding, “person to train her.” 

Great, it's like they are at war, and I'm the battlefield, Faith thought. Watching Wes sputter about some more, she changed her mind. Wes thinks he owns me, that I'm his personal property or some such shit. Watching Aidan calmly respond to Wes' rants, explaining that Cam was a much better fighter than either of them, which Wes obviously didn't believe if the sweeping glance he gave the older woman was any indication, Faith realized that she didn't what Aidan wanted from her. He must have had some reason to take on a Slayer and her annoying idiot of a Watcher. 

Wesley turned toward Cam. “Look, I apologize if this took you out of your way, but Faith isn't an ordinary girl. She needs specialized training, training that I've been, um, trained to give her.” 

Deciding to butt in before Wes made even more of a fool of himself, Faith called out, “She knows.” 

“Faith,” he yelled, “I'm trying to... Knows what?” 

“My sister was a Slayer,” Cam said. “Aidan has explained to me what your training would have been.” Nodding toward Faith, she added, “I understand her abilities better than you do.” 

Wesley's glance darted between the three of them, Aidan, Cam, and Faith before he suddenly seemed to deflate. Somebody's finally figured out he isn't in charge, Faith thought. Good. 

Turning on Cam, Wes accused, “Faith did have very specific plans for the day. You thought you could disrupt them just like that?” 

“No,” Cam replied. “I was downstairs training when she showed up. Naturally I wasn't going to let the opportunity to assess her skills slip away.” 

As Wes glared at Faith, she remembered why she'd left the picnic. Kakistos, shit. “Hey,” she told Wes, “I don't do that lovey dovey family stuff.” She couldn't believe that she'd forgotten about the demons she'd seen, but maybe that meant it had been a one time thing, nothing to worry about; maybe all she'd needed was a good workout to get rid of the kinks.


	4. Chapter 4

Leaving the B&B behind her, Brigit walked toward the road but veered right, heading toward the ocean but stopping to climb one of the large rocks that bordered the beach. She really shouldn't have left the desk, abandoning her duty as she had, but if anyone returned she'd see their headlights long before they reached the parking lot, and nobody was likely to call during the fireworks. 

Resolved to enjoy the brief moment of freedom she'd stolen from her evening, Brigit turned her back on the B&B – a Tudor-style house, passed down for generations from mother to eldest daughter – in a minor rebellion against the traditions that bound her life, traditions she'd willing embraced until her husband's death had shaken up her world while working for Aidan had introduced her to a wider world than she'd ever imagined. 

 

* * *

After they'd finished eating, Aidan asked Wesley to join him in his office. Rightfully irritated that some stranger had been brought in to train his Slayer, Wesley considered declining but with a sigh gave in and followed Aidan back to the study. He did, after all, have to work with these people. Until the Council abandoned whatever foolish notions were allowing this interference – as if the time honored tradition of one Watcher, one Slayer hadn't worked perfectly well for generations – he really had very little say in the situation. It rankled, but there it was. 

When Aidan, playing the gracious host, gestured for him to sit in one of the leather chairs, Wesley slumped down into it, feeling quite despondent, which is why Aidan's words took him so off guard. “I want to apologize for bringing in a trainer without discussing it with you first.” 

“I, um, what?” 

Aidan was still standing, towering over him really, and Wesley wondered if that was some sort of psychological trick, if giving himself the high-ground physically didn't give his words more merit. Waving his hand out, in an awkward jerking motion, Aidan said, “You are her Watcher, and I should have consulted you.” 

Wesley didn't know how to reply. Aidan was perfectly correct when he said Wesley should have been the one making that decision, but even after he'd been selected to be Faith's Watcher, in those heady few days between receiving the assignment and being sent to the States, not to mention after he'd arrived in Boston, almost nobody treated him with the respect his position deserved. He settled for a quiet and dignified “Thank you”, which he immediately questioned, wondering if that acknowledgement would allow Aidan to think he could be disregarded again in the future. Perhaps he should have gone on the offensive, demanding that the woman be dismissed. 

“Of course, it goes without saying that neither of us are competent to give Faith the training she deserves as the Slayer.” 

“But,” Wesley said, sputtering out a few more buts before making his point, “I've been training for this most of my life.” 

Aidan sat at that, leaning in, acting as if Wesley were his equal and possibly his friend. “I know exactly what your training is, and it isn't enough, although I'm certain you think otherwise. I would have thought the exact same thing at your age, but I've had almost two decades to learn better. Faith needs to be trained by the best, and I know Cam doesn't look like much, but don't let her looks deceive you. She's an amazing fighter and best teacher I've run across.” 

Wesley took that in, still not pleased that some stranger, someone he'd never even heard of before, was stepping in to train his Slayer, but the situation seemed to have spiraled out of his control, and he didn't believe he had any say now that she was here. 

Standing again, Aidan stepped across the room, saying, “I'd like to say I'm letting you borrow these as way of an atonement, but even though I've behaved most egregiously, I do have a favor to ask.” Pulling three tomes out of the bookcase, he brought them over to Wesley. 

Not certain he wanted to look at them, but fearing he'd appear ungracious if he didn't take them, Wesley had all three tomes in his lap before he realized what they were. “Transformare Homo Daemonium,” he whispered, awe in his voice. “The definitive work on the creation of demonic races from human flesh. I've seen references in other books but never thought to be holding them in my own hands. Where did you ever find them?” 

Aidan gave him a smile. “That's a long story.” Tapping one of the tomes, he added, “I'd be interested in your thoughts, especially on the second volume.” 

“I'd be honored,” Wesley stammered, holding onto the tomes as if they were the Holy Grail itself. 

“I'll leave you to it then,” Aidan said, gesturing toward the doorway. 

Rising with a grace he rarely had, as if only when surrounded by or holding ancient books did he feel comfortable in his body, Wesley took the tomes up to his room, feeling he could only keep them properly secure in a small space. Leaning over the desk that Aidan had provided at his request, where he usually made notes for his Watcher diary, Wesley opened the first tome. 

About a half hour later, Wesley sat back in his chair. “But if that's true, then Eddington's theories on the origins of selkies would be completely invalid.” Standing, he'd taken one step toward the door before turning back to the tomes. He brushed his fingers over the pages he'd just been reading, as if reluctant to leave them behind. Giving himself a shake, he added, “No, I can't just let that rest.” 

Leaving the three tomes behind, he made his way to the living room, going straight to the shelf he wanted. As he was flipping through the book, he was surprised to hear chanting, apparently coming from outside the house. Looking up with a start, Wesley tilted his head to catch the sound better. Come at me, and I'll stick to thee. Wesley thought about holiday customs, of running from house to house with a wren in a box begging for treats, and briefly wondered if there were children at the door, but from the sound of it this wasn't the same thing at all. The chanting wasn't the singsong he'd expect for that sort of holiday custom. It had the pacing of an incantation. Attack and be stuck fast. It honestly didn't sound like a prank. Perhaps he should investigate. 

Wesley opened the back door slowly, wincing when it squeaked, and peered into the night as if afraid something might jump out at him. The chanting had stopped. To his right he saw Mrs. Smith, Camille, the woman who'd been brought in to train his Slayer, and about three feet past her Faith in a fighting stance, standing as if she were protecting Mrs. Smith although Wesley couldn't see any danger. Perhaps this was merely another training session, but then, as a set of about a dozen fireworks went off in the distance, Wesley saw the colored lights reflecting off of... something, the light fading from the darkness Faith was facing moments before the fireworks faded in the sky. A tickle of knowledge at the back of his mind told Wesley that he should recognize the creature, but he had no idea what it might be, possibly because he could barely see it, pitch black as it was against the base of the trees, even darker than the shadows. Wait, pitch... 

Faith kicked at it. 

“No,” Wesley shouted, racing into the yard, knowing he was too late to stop her even before he tried. By the time he'd reached her side, her leg was already stuck up to the thigh in a gooey mass. Even though the creature's leg had dissolved when Faith had kicked it, the rest of it was still upright, a large pitch figure, towering over his Slayer. Wesley tried to calm himself. A Tar Baby, he'd never expected to see such a creature in his whole life, but at least it wasn't terribly dangerous, as long as Faith didn't attack it. 

Faith wrapped her arms around it's neck. “Kinda busy here, Wes,” she yelled back, grimacing as the tar congealed over her hands. 

“Stop fighting it!” 

“Can't win if you don't play the game,” she added, trying to yank her hands out of the tar. 

“The more you fight, the quicker it'll pull you in,” he shouted. “Just stay still and give me some time to research. There must be a way to get you out of it.” 

“That'd be called killing it,” Faith called back, slamming her head against the Tar Baby. As it sucked her in, it completely lost its human form, reverting to a massive pile of goop. Only Faith's leg, the one she hadn't kicked with, stuck out from the black tar. 

Diving for the leg, Wesley pulled at it, knowing his actions were futile but also certain research wouldn't work now. Faith couldn't hold her breath that long. Turning his head toward Mrs. Smith, he yelled out, “Why don't you help?” 

Instead of responding, the woman simply stood there, serene as a Buddha. “Please,” Wesley had started to say, hoping that begging would move the woman, although what she could do, he didn't know, when the night started getting brighter. Turning toward the Tar Baby, he squinted, raising his arm to protect himself from the blinding light as it exploded into a flash so bright that he could see white even from behind his closed eyes. 

“What the hell?” he heard Faith shout. 

Wesley, blinking his sight back, saw Faith standing toe to toe with Mrs. Smith, the Slayer looking like she was ready to rip the woman's head off. Certain that he wouldn't look so calm if facing an enraged Slayer, Wesley wondered if he should intervene. Perhaps if he stayed out of it, Mrs. Smith would realize she wasn't up to training a Slayer and leave. That certainly would be for the best. 

“Did you have something to do with that?” Faith asked in a shout. 

“Check your necklace,” Mrs. Smith replied. 

Faith pulled at the chain on her neck. “It's gone,” she said. “That plastic thingamajig is gone.” 

“It was created to destroy the Tar Baby; once the two touched, they were both destroyed.” 

“So you just happened to know that monster would be attacking and threw me at it?” Faith asked, scorn clear in her voice. 

“I rather believe she had it created,” Wesley said, wondering if the spellcaster were still about. 

Never taking her eyes off Faith, Mrs. Smith replied, “It was a test. You failed. You let anger control your actions and ignored good advice from an ally. If this had been a real attack, you'd be dead.” 

With the moral high ground firmly in his pocket, Wesley stepped toward Mrs. Smith, anxious to press his advantage. “Do you really believe either of us will trust you after that betrayal?” 

The woman's lips twisted into a small smile as she, seemingly ignoring Wesley's words, directed hers toward Faith. “I am not your friend, but I will do all I can to make you the most effective fighter you can become. This will save your life.” Turning to Wesley, she added, “And you speak of betrayal? What, were you planning to ignore the Council's directive on the cruciamentum?” 

Wesley paled as he stuttered, “How do you know about that?” 

“As I said before,” she replied. “My sister.” 

Her sister had been a Slayer. He wondered what secrets she knew. 

Faith glanced between the two of them. “The cruci-whatsit?” 

“Nothing,” Wesley said dismissively, looking for firm ground, for some stability that would give him a sense of control. “Nothing to concern you.” 

Faith stepped back, a wary look on her face. 

“Your feelings of insecurity will get the Slayer killed,” Mrs. Smith said before turning and walking into the house. 

Faith gazed up at the last of the fireworks. “I'll tell you one thing. She's already a lot more interesting than Petra ever was.” 

“You cannot mean to train with that lunatic,” Wesley exclaimed. 

“What's the cruciamentum?” 

“I, um, well,” Wesley stammered. 

“That's what I thought.” Faith followed Mrs. Smith into the house, leaving Wesley outside, alone in the dark


End file.
